


Sherlock: Let's Play A Game

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drinking Games, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-16 12:22:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's not allowed to play Cluedo. There are quite a few things that he- and Mycroft- aren't allowed to play because of various reasons. John and Greg should have realised they were serious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eff, Kill, Marry

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授權翻譯】Sherlock: Let's Play A Game](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113722) by [Jawnlock123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jawnlock123/pseuds/Jawnlock123)



> **Author's Note:** I don't know how long this story will be, but there will be a few more chapters.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss, and Steven Moffat. The original characters are the property of Arthur Conan Doyle. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.

'We should play Fuck, Kill, Marry.'

In hindsight, it was a _very_ bad idea. It was a _massively_ bad idea. Really, the other three men should have whacked John over the head with a wine bottle and called the evening to a halt.

However, due to the intoxication levels of said three men, they went along with it... for the most part.

It was a Friday night. Sherlock and John had just helped Greg close a case that Scotland Yard had been on for seventeen straight days, Mycroft had had to intervene when Interpol got involved, and all four men needed to unwind and relax.

It was Greg and John who decided drinks at 221B Baker Street were called for. As the designated side-kicks for the Holmes boys (that was Sally and Dimmock getting together to label them Team Mycroft and Team Sherlock due to Greg and John dropping everything for the genii), the two men decided that it was time Mycroft and Sherlock got over their stupid feud.

They still fought, of course. But they _could_ enjoy an evening together without resorting to too many childish insults... for the most part.

After sinking three bottles of wine and a number of beers between them, they started playing stupid games. Poker was thrown out when Sherlock shouted that Mycroft was using his eidetic memory to win (which wasn't cheating, Mycroft said, because he couldn't help the fact that he could remember everything and therefore count cards).

Chess followed soon after when it became clear that Sherlock and Mycroft could host an entire game in their heads, just sitting there staring at the board until one of them (usually Mycroft) claimed "checkmate". Cluedo was out because Sherlock was insane, as well as Monopoly ('Why would a hat need a railway station?' Sherlock demanded), Uno, and about every other game John had on hand.

It wasn't even ten yet, and John and Greg didn't want the night to be over. So John had resorted to the first thing that came to his head; Fuck, Kill, Marry.

The fact that John voluntarily followed Sherlock around on murder cases should have spoken to his sanity. Greg let Sherlock in on cases and travelled hours just to take care of Sherlock because Mycroft said, 'Please.' And the Holmes boys... well, their sanity had been questioned _long_ before Greg and John met them.

So really, it was no surprise that they'd all agree to a stupid game that would dredge up semi-secret crushes, jealousy, and the idea of John wearing an apron. The alcohol didn't help.

Mycroft and Sherlock stared at John after his exclaimation, and Greg said, 'Wha?'

'Fuck, Kill, Marry,' John repeated.

'Uh... why?' Greg asked.

''Cause I'm bored,' the doctor stated.

'Right, right,' Greg nodded. He pressed the top of the bottle he was holding to his lips and took a healthy swig.

'Excuse me, but what is "Fuck, Kill, Marry"?' Mycroft questioned.

'No doubt another stupid game,' Sherlock groaned.

John ignored Sherlock's remark and explained; 'It's a game; you're given a choice of three people. And you have to choose one to fuck, one to kill, and one to marry.'

Mycroft inclined an eyebrow and Sherlock said, 'What?'

'Here, me and Greg'll show you,' John said and turned to the older man. 'Okay, um... Billie Piper, David Tennant, and J.K. Rowling.'

Greg groaned and took another gulp of beer. 'I never shoulda told you I liked dudes as well.'

'Um... you said you were more inclined to let a bloke shag you through your bed,' John corrected him. Greg blushed and ran a hand through his hair. 'Well, you said any flat surface, or rough surface-'

'Yeah, we get it,' the DI cut in with a scowl. 'Fine, fine. Um... kill Billie Piper, fuck David Tennant, and marry J.K. Rowling.'

'See?' John said, turning to Mycroft and Sherlock, who were sitting at the kitchen table watching them. Sherlock was beside John, with Mycroft opposite him, and Greg on the other side. 'Now he's gotta give his reasons.'

They all looked at Greg, who sighed. 'Kill Billie Piper 'cause I'd rather fuck David Tennant- haven't shagged a bloke in _years_ ,' he groaned. 'And I'd marry J.K. Rowling 'cause... well, she's rich and smart and wrote Harry Potter.'

'There,' John smiled, looking pleased. 'You get it now?'

'It seems very odd,' Mycroft commented.

'Not to mention a complete waste of time,' Sherlock scowled and sucked back on his own beer. He didn't like wine that much and John had convinced him that beer was great; as long as Sherlock drank enough, it didn't matter what it tasted like.

Mycroft, of course, loved wine and sipped from his glass while tilting his head. 'I suppose the idea of the game is to pass time, have a few laughs, and generally just... hang out?'

'Exactly,' John said. 'So now Greg can ask me, then we'll give you two a turn.'

'Fine, fine,' Greg grunted. He leaned forward at the table and said, 'Er... David Cameron, Barack Obama, and Nicolas Cage.'

'Okay... what the fuck, what kinda choices are they?' John demanded.

'Just play the game, Johnny!' Greg said.

John stuck his tongue out but sat to think about it. 'Um... okay, I'd kill Nicolas Cage, shag David Cameron, and marry Barack Obama. 'Cause who wouldn't wanna be married to the president? I reckon the good ol' PM would be interesting in bed, and I don't like Nicolas Cage. So throw him off a fuckin' mountain.'

Greg snorted and John grinned broadly, the two sipping from their bottles.

'I know for a fact that David Cameron is average in bed at best,' Mycroft informed them. All eyes turned to him and Greg raised an eyebrow. 'I haven't slept with him,' Mycroft said with an eye-roll. 'However I speak with him on a regular basis and I can deduce everything from his clothing and behaviour; he's average at best and romantic when the situation calls for it.'

'Are you _sure_ you haven't slept with him?' John teased.

'No, 'course not,' Greg shook his head. 'Mycroft wouldn't... no, absolutely not.'

Sherlock snickered and John raised his eyebrows. 'What's the matter, Lestrade?' Sherlock teased. 'Jealous?'

'NO!' Greg practically squeaked, cementing the idea that he fancied Mycroft further into Sherlock and John's heads.

'Uh-huh,' John snorted.

Greg blushed brightly and slid down in his seat, avoiding eye-contact with everyone.

'I see how the game works,' Mycroft said.

'Okay, Sherlock's turn,' John announced.

Sherlock whined, 'Do I have to?'

'Yes,' his flatmate nodded.

'Damn it,' Sherlock groaned. 'Fine, fine; what are my choices?'

John and Greg pondered it for a few seconds before John grinned evilly. 'Sally Donovan, Will Anderson, and Molly Hooper.'

'WHAT?!' Sherlock exploded. Greg and John giggled drunkenly as Sherlock said, 'No! No, no, no, no, _no-no-no-no-noooo_! No, absolutely bloody not!'

'Ah, ah, rules state that you gotta answer!' Greg grinned.

'And you said you'd play,' John added. 'So come on, Sherly; tell us your answers.'

Mycroft snickered as Sherlock flopped back onto his seat. 'I hate you all,' he snarled.

'Now, now, no need to be rude, Sherly,' Mycroft grinned.

Sherlock poked his tongue out and huffed, long arms crossing over his chest. 'Can't I have other options?' he whined.

'No,' the other three men answered immediately.

'I hate you all!' Sherlock snapped. 'FINE! Kill Anderson, shag Sally, marry Molly.'

'Why?' Greg asked.

'We need reasons,' John added.

Sherlock's glare darkened and he gritted his teeth as he spat out, 'Kill Anderson because I would gladly wrap my hands around that idiot's throat and squeeze until he stopped mouthing off about fucking dinosaurs! Shag Sally because at least I could get rid of her after it. And marry Molly because I could put up with her for more than five minutes.'

There was silence as Mycroft, John and Greg let Sherlock's answers set in. And then Mycroft said, 'When you say "fucking dinosaurs", do you mean Anderson wants to sleep with dinosaurs, or were you using "fucking" to make your words harsher?'

Sherlock glared at him. 'Either way, Mycroft! I don't want to think about it any more!' He slouched further in his seat and pouted, glaring hard at the table like it was the cause of all his problems.

Greg and John giggled stupidly together as they imagined Sherlock and Sally shagging- 'GOD, IMAGINE THE CHILDREN!' Greg spat through his laughter, causing John to nearly fall from his seat as he was overcome by giggles- and Mycroft just chuckled at his brother's discomfort.

Unfortunately soon Greg and John were moving onto fresh kill and they turned at the same time to look at Mycroft.

Mycroft sighed.

'Oh, I got a good one,' John grinned lop-sidedly. 'Us.'

'Us what?' Mycroft asked.

'Us,' John repeated and gestured to Greg, himself, and Sherlock with a sweep of his hand. 'Go on.'

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. 'Are you serious?' When John nodded he sighed. 'Kill Sherlock, fuck Gregory, and marry you, John.'

'What?' Greg and Sherlock exclaimed at once.

'Why wouldn't you marry me?' Greg demanded.

'What did I ever do to deserve you murdering me?' Sherlock asked at the same time.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. 'Sherlock, honestly. I neither want to marry you _nor_ participate in any type of sexual activity with you. The only remaining option is to kill you; I'm sorry.'

Sherlock could see his brother's reasoning but still glared.

The elder Holmes turned to Gregory. 'While I'm sure you would be a most fabulous husband,' he said, 'I think a wild, passionate night- or day, week, year, whichever- of sex would be most enjoyable.'

Greg blinked a few times before a bright blush worked across his cheeks.

Finally Mycroft turned to John. 'And you, John, I would marry for the following reasons; you are strong, loyal, and brave. You take good care of Sherlock, which had made my life much easier. You cook and clean with barely any complaints, you know not to ask about my job, and the idea of you wearing a flower-print apron is just amazingly funny.'

Greg and Sherlock both turned to look at John as the doctor's mouth dropped open. 'W-What?'

'Oh God, I see it!' Greg shouted. He slammed his beer bottle on the table. 'Mrs Holmes, wearing a frilly apron and cooking for his dear, dear husband!'

Sherlock was giggling now and said, 'And John, you're about the right height; you could stay at home and take care of the house while Mycroft does his MI6 thing.'

'I don't work for MI6,' Mycroft sighed.

'Sorry; run it,' Sherlock corrected.

Mycroft ignored him and John asked, 'Wait, you'd marry me 'cause you think I'd take care of you?' Mycroft nodded. 'Bullshit! I ain't nobody's stay at home wife!' he exclaimed.

'But think of the apron!' Greg implored, like John was giving up a lifetime of happiness.

'And who will take care of the surrogate-Mycroft babies?' Sherlock demanded. 'Think of my nephews and neices, John!'

'Fuck you!' John snarled.

'You know...' Greg said slowly and all eyes flicked to him, 'you kinda already _are_ a stay at home wife.'

'What?'

'You cook and clean for Sherlock,' the DI pointed out. 'And I bet you wear a nice, manly apron when making him toast and eggs.'

He waggled a finger at John and the younger man tried to smack it away. 'Fuck you, Greg!'

'No, _Mycroft's_ fucking me,' Greg said and puffed his chest out.

'Well he's marrying _me_ ,' John countered.

'So?' Greg sniffed. 'He might come home to you but he's banging my brains out wherever the bloody hell I fancy!'

'No, no, _no_ ,' John shook his head. 'No husband of mine would be going 'round with some... tramp!'

'Tramp?' Greg snapped. 'I'm no tramp, John Watson!'

'Well you're screwin' my husband!' John shouted.

'Erm... it's just a game,' Mycroft reminded them.

'Who cares who's screwing Mycroft?' Sherlock added. 'Besides, you don't want to, John.' He paused. 'Do you?'

'What?' John said, rounding on his flatmate. 'No, 'course I don't.'

'So what's the big deal?' Sherlock asked.

'It's the principle!' John snapped. 'If I'm wearing frilly fucking aprons and raising red-headed geniuses-'

'Auburn-haired genii,' Mycroft corrected.

'- then I want a faithful goddamn husband!' John continued, ignoring Mycroft. 'And he isn't running around London fucking old bloody cops!'

'Old?' Greg demanded. He slammed his beer down again and stood. 'Who you callin' old?'

'You!' John said and stood too. He poked a finger at the DI. 'You're gray and saggy and you couldn't keep someone like Mycroft happy no matter how many tricks you pulled!'

'I'd fuck him better than you!' Greg retorted. 'What are you gonna do, huh? Use your apron as a cape and role play?'

John stormed around the table and Greg did the same. The two started arguing loudly about who could better satisfy- and take care of- Mycroft Holmes, while the man in question and his brother sat at the table staring at them.

After a few minutes- and many failures to get John and Greg's attention- Sherlock sighed and finished off his beer, while Mycroft drained his wine glass.

'You know, Mycroft,' Sherlock mused as John and Greg continued to argue over who'd make the better housewife and who was better in bed, 'I think we should add this game to the list of things we're not allowed to play.'

Mycroft tilted his head, his eyes roaming up and down Greg's arse. 'Mm,' he nodded in agreement, 'though you must admit we're getting a good show out of it.'

Sherlock rolled his own eyes, but still couldn't help that admit to himself that John was rather sexy when angry. And if Mycroft's eyes remained on Lestrade, then they wouldn't have a problem.


	2. Right Hand Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Twister from _thefactorygirl_ on FF.Net

John could not _believe_ that he fought with Greg over who'd make a better housewife and shag for Mycroft Holmes. The worst part was, he hadn't even been _that_ drunk. He'd been just drunk enough to try and prove to Greg that he was a better lay than the DI.

He knew why Greg had fought him; it was no real secret that the older man wanted Mycroft. It had started a few months earlier; the blushes, the stutters, the way Greg bounced around at the mere knowledge that Mycroft would be appearing later on. Sally and Dimmock had started taking bets from the other Yarders about when and where Greg would kiss Mycroft- and whether or not the elder Holmes would have him killed for snogging him.

John was in on the bet, stating that Mycroft would kiss Greg first in 221B. Of course, the Yarders didn't know that at least once a week Mycroft came over to drink with him, Sherlock, and Greg. They also didn't know that Mycroft quite liked watching Greg blush, and flirted with him every now and then ( _and_ he stared at Greg's arse when Greg wasn't looking, but John wasn't about to bring _that_ up). The pool was at £320, so John was keeping those little bits of information to himself.

Sherlock had pouted most of Saturday over John's supposed need to cook, clean, and sleep with his brother. John tried over and over again to clear up the air; yes, Mycroft was handsome, but John did _not_ want to sleep with him. Sherlock still pouted, but when John woke up Sunday to find his flatmate and best friend wrapped around him asleep, he knew he was forgiven.

The following Friday Mycroft had work, so they pushed their drinks night back to Satruday. Still, Mycroft wouldn't be there until at least nine, so Greg came over early with takeaway and John supplied the beer. Sherlock sat in the middle of the sofa scowling at his friends.

'Sherlock, you're not still pissed that me and John fought over Mycroft,' Greg said.

'I am,' Sherlock snapped. 'John finally admitted to me that he's bisexual, however prefers women, and then he goes and hits on my brother.'

'I didn't hit on him,' John groaned. 'I'd had too much to drink and wanted Greg to know that I was better in bed.'

'And I was... really drunk,' Greg grinned.

'Oh, please,' Sherlock scoffed. 'You _want_ to sleep with my brother.'

Greg jumped and almost dropped his box of Chinese food. 'W-What?'

'Oh yes, sorry, you "secretly" want to shag my brother,' Sherlock said. He even used airquotes over the word "secretly", making Greg blush darkly.

'It's not really a secret,' John muttered.

'He's in denial,' Sherlock sniffed.

'I am _not_ ,' Greg tried to argue. The other two just snickered at him. 'Shut up, alright!' Greg hissed. 'And don't say that shit around Mycroft!'

'Gregory, _please_ ,' Sherlock said.

'Er, Greg,' John said, 'if _I_ can see that you wanna shag him, don't you reckon Mycroft's figured it out by now?'

Greg blinked rapidly and looked from one man to the other before groaning. 'God, just kill me.'

'No, I need you for cases,' Sherlock said. 'No dying, Lestrade.'

Before Greg could snap at the genius, the door was pushed open and the man they were talking about walked in. He brushed snow from his shoulders as he said, 'My meeting came to an early end and I was able to get away. Of course if Adelaide had listened to me she would have known she was going into labour but-'

Mycroft cut himself off when he finally looked at the group; Sherlock was grinning evilly, John was trying not to laugh, and Greg had turned the most amazing shade of red Mycroft wondered how he hadn't keeled right over.

Raising an eyebrow delicately and setting his umbrella against the wall, Mycroft asked, 'Am I missing something?'

'Absolutely not!' Greg practically shouted. He shook his head violently and downed half his beer, continuing to mutter, 'Nope, nothin', absolutely nothin', nah-ah, it's nothin', Sherlock's a bitch...'

Mycroft tuned out Greg's rant and turned his blue eyes to his brother's. He raised his eyebrow again and Sherlock snickered but gave the elder Holmes a shrug.

'Okay,' Mycroft hummed, 'I take it we're still having drinks, yes?'

'Yeah,' John nodded, and Greg finally shut up. 'I'm gonna dig through all my crap and try and find a game to play.'

'Couldn't have done that earlier?' Greg asked.

'I have to work and take care of Sherlock,' John pointed out as he sat back on the sofa with his box of takeaway. 'I'm pratically a single parent here!'

Greg and Mycroft both chuckled while Sherlock snuggled into his flatmate's side. The other two men exchanged a look that both Sherlock and John missed, each thinking the same thing; _Sherlock and John_ totally _fancy each other._

Deciding not to say anything- for fear of Sherlock bringing up his apparently not secret crush on Mycroft- Greg just grabbed his Chinese food and said, 'Ya hungry, Mycroft?'

'No, I ate earlier,' Mycroft said. He'd bought two bottles of wine and disappeared into the kitchen.

'Gregory and Mycroft, sitting in a tree,' Sherlock sang softly.

'Shut it!' Greg growled.

John chuckled and Sherlock grinned.

 

{oOo}

 

'You can _not_ be serious,' Greg groaned.

'Why can't I be?' John demanded.

''Cause you're not this insane,' Greg said. 'I mean, honestly, we can't even play _Poker_ without reverting to childish squabbles.'

'We don't fight _that_ much,' Sherlock huffed. When Greg and John looked at him, Sherlock said, 'Well... we've gotten better!'

'I agree,' Mycroft said. He was standing behind the sofa, Sherlock sitting on the back of it, the two Holmeses scowling down at the matt John had placed on the floor. He'd already moved the coffee table to the side and had the square piece of cardboard with the spinner attached to it on the floor beside him.

'You _have_ gotten better,' John nodded, 'which is why I think we can play Twister and not resort to death threats.'

'I'm not so sure about that,' Mycroft mused.

'Yes, I hardly want to twist my body anywhere near my brother's,' Sherlock added.

'You've gone completely barmy,' was Greg's input.

'Well it's either this, Chess, Poker, or Fuck, Kill, Marry,' John said. He looked at each man pointedly. 'And we all remember how _those_ games turned out.'

The other three all thought about that before Greg said, 'Twister sounds fun.'

'Absolutely,' Mycroft nodded.

'Oh God,' Sherlock groaned.

'Come on, get your arses down,' John beamed. He'd had six beers already and was a little tispy- which probably explained why he thought getting the Holmes brothers to play Twister was a good idea.

'Who's going to spin the... spinner?' Greg asked.

'I am,' John said.

'If I have to play, so do you,' Sherlock scowled.

'I _am_ playing,' John said. 'I'll just keep an arm free to spin the... spinny thing.'

'Spin the spinny thing,' Mycroft sighed and sipped his wine. 'What has my life come to?'

'Playing Twister with three other grown men apparently,' Sherlock muttered.

Realising they weren't going to get out of it- John was glaring at them now- Sherlock, Mycroft and Greg all put their drinks aside and took their shoes and socks off. Mycroft took a minute to raise an eyebrow at the blue and green striped socks Greg was wearing- an act that made Greg blush, Mycroft smirk, and Sherlock roll his eyes- before crouching beside his brother next to the matt with Greg and John opposite them.

'Right,' John beamed. 'Greg, you can go first.'

'What? Why?' the DI spluttered.

''Cause your name comes first alphabetically,' John said.

Greg frowned. 'Holmes comes before Lestrade.'

John blinked at him for a second before saying, 'I meant first name.'

'Of course,' Greg groaned, shaking his head. He watched as John spun the... spinner, the little black arrow landing on-

'Right hand green,' John smiled.

Rolling his eyes and huffing dramatically, Greg crawled across the matt and put his right hand on the closest green circle.

Nodding in satisfaction, John said, 'Mycroft... left hand green.'

Mycroft rolled his eyes too but did as asked. He placed his left hand on the same circle as Greg's, making sure their fingers brushed against each other. The delightful blush that spread across the older man's cheeks more than made up for playing Twister, Mycroft thought.

Sherlock was next- left foot blue- and John went last because apparently as the keeper of the "spinny thing", he had the right to do whatever the hell he wanted.

Soon enough the four men were cursing and twisting around each other, Greg doing everything in his power to not touch Mycroft, Mycroft doing everything in _his_ power to press as much of his body against Greg's as possible, while Sherlock scowled and John giggled.

'Mycroft, you're cheating!' Sherlock whined fifteen minutes into the game.

'How am I?' his brother demanded.

Sherlock huffed, 'You're rubbing yourself all over Lestrade and we all know he fancies you!'

'I do _not_!' Greg whined.

'Yeah you do,' John groaned from behind Sherlock. 'Mycroft, stop using your whiles to corrupt Greg.'

'My whiles?' Mycroft mused.

'Yes, stop it!' Sherlock demanded.

'I'm reaching for right hand red,' Mycroft informed them, 'and Gregory's body just _happens_ to be hovering over the red circles. What else am I to do but lean over him?'

'You can lean over him without dry-humping the poor man!' Sherlock huffed. He stopped quickly and shook his head. 'What am I saying?'

'Yeah, Greg's not poor; he _wants_ Mycroft to dry-hump him,' John grunted. It was quickly followed by a snicker. 'Preferably without clothes on and quickly followed by a good old roggering.'

'JOHN!' Greg shouted right in Mycroft's ear, making the red-head lose his balance. It was like dominos; Mycroft fell into Greg, who hit the floor with a thud, followed by Sherlock tipping back and head-butting John, who grunted in pain and fell face-first onto the Twister mat.

Various "ows" came from the four men and Sherlock was the first to berate Greg.

'Good job, Lestrade,' he muttered. 'It was always my intention to end this night with a concussion.'

'It'd take more than John's head to break your own,' Mycroft huffed from atop Greg. 'Like maybe a brick.'

'Or your arse!' Sherlock retorted.

'Actually, it's quite soft,' John commented. He'd ended up under Sherlock with his arms pressed against Mycroft's body, and he could feel the older Holmes' arse pushing against his thigh. And, of course, the pain of Sherlock's entire lanky bloody body lying atop him.

'Why are you feeling my brother's arse?' Sherlock demanded. He tried to twist to see John and ended up flailing about and hitting the floor on John's other side. '... ow.'

'That's it,' John groaned as he wiggled away from Mycroft.

'Yeah,' Greg agreed, trying to ignore how good Mycroft's firm body felt pressed against his own. 'No more fucking Twister.'


	3. Yellow Disk, Red Disk, Yellow Disk, M

With the Twister Episode firmly behind them (and only minimal teasing from everyone at the Yard after John had written about it on his blog) the four men sat down to dinner at 221B. Well, John, Greg and Mycroft sat down to dinner while Sherlock pouted in the corner.

It had been about two weeks since Greg had had to call Sherlock in on a case and the genius wasn't in a good mood. He'd only had three private cases, all of which Sherlock had wasted his time on. The last one had looked slightly promising until Mycroft, who was over to annoy Sherlock or ask a question or... something, John hadn't heard because he'd escaped into the kitchen after the second fat joke, had solved it after a two second glance.

And Sherlock, who had never and _would_ never get over the fact that his brother was just that bit smarter than him, had thrown a tantrum any four-year-old would be jealous of and spent the day and night wrapped around John's legs pouting.

John didn't mind the wrapped-around-his-legs part, he just hated the curses that Sherlock mumbled about his brother. And there were the smug little smiles Mycroft kept sending his sibling's way.

Regardless of that, John was in a good mood. His shift at the surgery had gone well, he'd finally found a good Indian place that served mouth-searing curry, and Greg was sharing stories from his days in a uniform.

The two men sat on the sofa, both leaning against an arm rest so they could face each other, while Sherlock was perched on his work table and Mycroft was in John's armchair picking at a small bowl of rice and sipping a glass of wine.

Sherlock scowled at his brother and Mycroft have him another smirk before diverting his attention to Gregory. He let his eyes wander over Greg's white shirt, rumpled after a day at the Yard, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hem untucked. His trousers were messy too and when Mycroft let his eyes travel down the DI's firm, muscled-looking legs, he noted that the older man was wearing bright green socks.

For some reason that made him smile and he had to hide it behind his wine glass. Sherlock, who was still scowling at him, noticed and huffed.

Mycroft threw Sherlock a small glare that Sherlock promptly ignored. Instead he folded his arms and glared at John, who had been ignoring him since Greg arrived.

_What's Lestrade got that I don't?_ his mind demanded. _I'm smarter and better looking and... and I'm Sherlock!_

Sherlock chose to ignore how possessive and childish his thoughts sounded and instead slid off the table. Mycroft, who had been watching his brother, smiled. Sherlock could never keep his thoughts hidden from the elder Holmes; Sherlock was like an open book to him.

So before Sherlock could break the two friends up and make an arse out of himself, Mycroft cleared his throat and said, 'How about a game?'

Three pairs of eyes turned to him, the light blue set glaring murderously, the other two looking inquisitive.

'Like what?' Greg asked.

Mycroft shrugged one shoulder delicately and had to fight back a smile when he saw Greg look him over. 'I don't know,' he said. 'But it's been two weeks since we were last together as a group. I'm sure John's found something.'

John's eyes lit up, proving Mycroft's deduction correct, and the short man leapt to his feet. 'Actually, someone left a game in the surgery the other day. I'll just grab it.'

He hurried out the door and they heard him thudding upstairs to his bedroom. Greg leaned back on the sofa and swigged his beer while Sherlock looked at Mycroft.

'I hate you,' he hissed.

'They're not talking,' Mycroft pointed out softly.

'Huh?' Greg said.

'Nothing,' Mycroft smiled at him.

Sherlock's scowl lifted when John entered carrying a box. It was mostly bright blue, with a picture of a yellow piece of plastic covered in holes held up by a blue stand, with a blue tray beneath it to hold the small yellow and red disks. There were two children having "fun" on the box, and Sherlock scowled.

'I doubt they actually had fun when posing for that,' the genius sniffed.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and John said, 'It's just a picture, Sherlock, calm down.'

'I am calm!' Sherlock snapped.

'Really?' his brother asked and smirked when Sherlock once again glared at him.

'Anyway,' John said and sat back down beside Greg. Sherlock pouted from the armrest. 'Someone left this,' John said. 'It was behind the counter a few days before I decided to bring it home.'

'You stole it?' Greg asked.

John paused from where he was opening the box. 'Erm... I _found_ it,' he corrected.

'What if they come back for it?' Greg said.

'Well they're not gonna find it,' John replied.

Greg chuckled and took a drink from his beer as John set the game up. Despite himself, Sherlock was curious, and he leaned forward slightly, his dressing gown falling open (John had _tried_ to get him to dress, but Sherlock thought pyjama bottoms, an over-sized t-shirt, and his dressing gown were good enough to wear when entertaining his brother and DI).

'Connect Four?' Sherlock asked.

'Yeah,' John nodded. He was sorting the yellow and red disks to either side of the tray. 'Haven't you ever played Connect Four?' When Sherlock didn't answer John looked up. The genius was staring at the game, a frown on his face, and John smiled. 'Never mind.'

'How do you play?' Sherlock demanded.

'If you would stop and focus for three seconds,' Mycroft said, drawing his sibling's attention, 'you'll find that you have to line up four of your coloured disks, either diagonally, vertically, or horizontally.'

'Oh,' Sherlock said. 'I can do that!'

'You want to play?' John asked.

'Yes,' Sherlock said. He threw himself sideways across John's lap and the smaller man squeaked as he suddenly found himself with a lap-full of Sherlock. He blushed brightly when Mycroft snickered at him.

Sherlock crawled across John and sat himself between the doctor and Greg, the DI forced to climb to his feet when it became clear Sherlock didn't want him there. Instead he sat gingerly on the armrest beside Mycroft and blushed without looking at the elder Holmes.

_Oh, this is more like it,_ Mycroft thought with a smile and shifted himself ever so slightly so he and Greg were touching. The DI flinched but made no attempt to move, and Mycroft patted himself on the back for a job well done.

Sherlock was staring down at the game. John had moved so he could face his flatmate but their knees were still touching.

'You can go first,' John said.

Sherlock grabbed a yellow disk and slotted it into one of the middle rows. John followed with a red disk, the four men watching it drop to the bottom of the board.

Mycroft quickly found that watching someone else play Connect Four was rather dull. Instead he focused on mapping Gregory's body with his eyes, head tilted to one side and wine glass clutched in one hand as his eyes ran hungrily over the older man.

Honestly, Mycroft didn't know how Gregory did this to him. He'd never felt this... _possessive_ of another person. Yes, he had dated. And yes, he had sex (though it had been a while). But Gregory Lestrade was something completely different. And when Mycroft got him in bed- because there was no doubt in the elder Holmes' mind that one day Gregory _would_ be his- he was going to explore every inch of that gorgeous body repeatedly.

Maybe with his tongue.

Greg shifted and stretched, arms going over his head, and his shirt rode up, giving Mycroft a flash of tanned skin.

_Definitely with my tongue,_ the genius thought, taking a large gulp of his wine because his mouth had suddenly gone dry.

'I win!' Sherlock shouted.

Mycroft was brought back to earth and looked up to see Sherlock grinning widely at John.

'Yeah,' John said, 'very good, Sherlock.'

He sounded like a mother congratulating her four-year-old, or a pet owner patting the dog on the head for bringing the newspaper in. But Sherlock was happy and that made Mycroft bite his tongue.

'Greg, you want a go?' John asked and looked up at the DI.

Sherlock's face flashed with jealousy and Mycroft wondered why he was being so possessive tonight. Everyone knew John was Sherlock's, that the two men belonged together, but Sherlock was being extra clingy and Mycroft wanted to know why.

'Can I play?' Mycroft asked before Greg could respond to John's question.

John, Greg, and Sherlock all looked at him, the latter's eyes narrowing.

'Yeah, sure,' John said. 'Um-'

'With Sherlock,' Mycroft interrupted and stood. He brushed his body completely against Greg's side and smiled when the DI shivered and fell heavily to sit in the armchair.

John nodded and stood so Mycroft could take his spot. The Doctor sat on the edge of the coffee table to watch the Holmes brothers play but also chat softly to Greg.

'What are you doing?' Sherlock demanded while Mycroft tugged the game up, making all the disks fall back into the tray at the bottom.

'I'm playing Connect Four,' Mycroft replied.

'And your ulterior motive is...?' Sherlock questioned.

Mycroft chuckled as he sat his wine glass on the table. He didn't bother sorting out the disks; he just grabbed a red one and slotted it into the plastic game-board.

'Mycroft, you're annoying me,' Sherlock said. His eyes were on his brother even as he dropped a yellow disk beside Mycroft's.

'I assure you I have no ulterior motives that currently include you,' Mycroft said, taking another turn.

Sherlock used a bit more force than was truly necessary on his next go. 'I don't believe you.'

'You never believe me.'

'And why is that, do you think?'

'Because you're paranoid,' Mycroft said, 'and think I'm out to get you.'

'You _are_ out to get me!' Sherlock hissed.

'Most of the time, yes,' Mycroft conceded with a nod. 'But my intentions are pure.' He paused. 'For the most part.'

'For the most part,' Sherlock scoffed and jammed another disk into the board.

'Sherlock, I'm here to enjoy a drink and the company of my lovely younger brother and our friends.'

Sherlock snorted.

'I _am_ wondering, however, why you're being extra needy with John.'

Sherlock frowned at the board as he put another disk in.

'Well?' Mycroft prompted.

'He's been working a lot,' Sherlock grumbled.

'Ah,' Mycroft said. 'You've not been spending much time together?'

'No,' Sherlock confirmed before he realised he'd just told his brother the truth. His head snapped up and Mycroft smiled. 'Bastard.'

'Sherlock-'

'See, ulterior motives!' Sherlock shouted.

Greg and John turned their way, but quickly went back to their conversation when they realised Sherlock and Mycroft were just having another squabble.

'I was just wondering why you were being clingy, that's all.'

'You never have less than seven other motives,' Sherlock muttered.

'No, just the one,' Mycroft said pleasantly.

'Liar.'

Mycroft tisked. 'You already told me what I wanted to know; what other motive could I possibly have?'

Sherlock glared at him as he said, 'Oh, I don't know... maybe you want to get into Lestrade's trousers?'

Mycroft paused, hand hovering over the board. Behind him Greg and John continued their conversation, talking just loudly enough, and being _just_ drunk enough, to not hear what the Holmes brothers were discussing.

When he was sure Gregory hadn't heard Sherlock, Mycroft smiled and dropping the disk in. 'That's true,' he agreed.

'Why don't you just start courting him already?' Sherlock demanded. 'Then I won't have to watch you two flirt.'

'I'll still flirt with him when we're dating,' Mycroft said.

'You act like it's a sure thing.'

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. 'Isn't it?'

Sherlock scowled. Mycroft was right; Greg's crush was so obvious that half of Scotland Yard knew about it. The man wasn't very good at keeping who he was attracted to to himself.

'Just ask him out on a date,' Sherlock muttered.

'All in good time,' Mycroft hummed. He let his eyes drift off to the side and he spotted a folder on the edge of the coffee table. 'Is that a case?'

'A cold case, yes,' Sherlock nodded. When Mycroft made to grab it Sherlock beat him and scowled. 'It's mine.'

'I never said it wasn't.'

'You can't look at it,' Sherlock said.

Mycroft smirked. 'Are you afraid I'll solve it, little brother?'

'I'm afraid you'll get frosting all over it. What was it today, Mycroft? Five cupcakes? Four donuts?'

Mycroft just chuckled. Sherlock only resorted to fat jokes when he was really annoyed... and when Mycroft was right.

'Fine,' he said and slid another disk in. 'Don't let me look. I'd hate to take away the pleasure you get when solving a case.' He paused and looked at Sherlock for effect. 'Even if the case is _terribly_ easy.'

Sherlock's face darkened and he dragged the case file onto his lap. With one hand he dropped another disk into the board, with the other he flipped the file open. Ignoring Mycroft, he stared down at the file, brow furrowed, as he tried to solve it.

Mycroft left his brother alone. After a full two minutes in which Sherlock mechanically played Connect Four- one hand grabbing a disk and slotting it in, the other pulling at his hair as he scowled at the file- Mycroft leaned back and picked his wine glass up. There was a few seconds of silence before-

'Wait...' Greg frowned and blinked. He wasn't _that_ drunk, was he? Because it looked like Mycroft- who was using the red disks- had won... with two rows of five. 'Wait,' he repeated, 'Mycroft, you won.'

'Did I?' Mycroft mused. He smiled and swirled his wine before taking a sip.

'Well... yeah,' Greg nodded. He pointed at the plastic stand and John leaned over to look. 'See, you've got four red disks in a row. The game's called Connect Four, and the whole point is to have four of your coloured disks in a row.'

'Is it?' Mycroft said, using that same tone of voice as before.

Greg frowned and looked at him while John sat back, head tilted, eyes narrowed. Sherlock, who seemed to have missed the entire conversation, finally looked up when he realised he had no room to put his next yellow disk in.

He blinked before looking at the plastic board. 'Mycroft!' he shouted.

'Yes, little brother?' Mycroft asked, a small smirk playing at his lips.

'This isn't how you play!' Sherlock spat and tossed the yellow disk down.

'Isn't it?' Mycroft said. 'Because as I recall, you were too busy reading the cold case Gregory gave you to realise I had won, twice, with two rows of _five_ , no less.'

Sherlock scowled and Greg said, 'I'm confused.'

'Oh,' John exclaimed before giggling.

'What?' Greg demanded.

'Sit back and look at the entire board,' John ordered. He pushed Greg back and made him look at the game. 'Just... look,' John said.

Greg looked back at the plastic board and let himself relax. It only took him a few seconds to realise what Mycroft had done. 'Oh,' he grinned, 'that's clever.'

Mycroft had used his red disks to write a captial "M" in the board using two rows of five and two rows of three. Sherlock's yellow disks filled almost every other spot, making the "M" stand out.

'Brilliant,' Greg said and turned to Mycroft.

Mycroft gave him a smile- Greg promptly blushed again- and sipped his wine before turning back to a still fuming Sherlock. 'If you hadn't had your nose buried in the file, you would have realised I won,' Mycroft said. He smirked devilishly. 'Twice.'

Sherlock's face was turning an amazing shade of pink- he never really turned the colour of a tomato, his blushes were more... strawberry smoothie.

Before Sherlock could start screaming- because Mycroft saw the beginning of a tantrum- the elder Holmes said smoothly, 'And it was the nanny,' and indicated the file still open on Sherlock's lap with his shoe.

Sherlock screeched- yes, there was no other word for it, he _screeched_ \- and grabbed the plastic board. Before anyone could stop him Sherlock had wrenched the two pieces of plastic apart, sending yellow and red disks across the entire flat, and tossed the broken game at the wall.

Greg and John jumped while Mycroft hummed and sniffed his wine. Sherlock kicked the disks closest to him across the room and shouted, 'I HATE YOU, MYCROFT!' before storming down the hallway to his bedroom.

When the door slammed shut with a loud _bang_ , John turned to Mycroft and Greg. 'Well... that went well.'

'I certainly think it did,' Mycroft smiled.

John rolled his eyes and stood. 'Now I gotta clean up this bloody mess,' he grumbled.

'I'll help,' Greg said. He finished his beer and set the bottle on the coffee table before standing too. 'You helpin', Mycroft?' Greg asked.

Mycroft shook his head and said, 'I have a few texts to reply to.'

Greg shrugged, John grumbled in annoyance, and the two men set about picking up plastic disks. When Mycroft was sure they were both distracted he slipped his phone away, sipped his wine, and settled back to watch Greg's trousers tighten around his arse every time he bent over.

_Sherlock's tantrums have some use after all,_ he mused.


End file.
